Outside Influence
by MizJoely
Summary: Sometimes all it takes for two stubborn people to get together is a little thing like...Outside Influence. Pure P-C fluff. Complete.
1. Old Friends

Beverly Crusher had always given incredible Halloween parties, starting way back in high school when she was still Beverly Howard. From then until her posting on the _Enterprise_, she'd only missed two years: the year she'd gone into labor an unexpected three weeks early with Wesley, and the year Jack died. In fact, it had been a Halloween party that helped, in part, to bring her out of her misery at losing her husband. Her best friend from medical school, Malina Kurtis, had talked her into having one. "Jack wouldn't want to see you moping around," she'd argued. "You've already missed one Halloween, and if you don't organize a party this year, I'll have to. And you know I'm hopeless at these things."

The last part was an out-and-out lie-Malina was the least hopeless person Beverly had ever met-but the young doctor allowed herself to be persuaded by her Polynesian friend's peculiar brand of logic and surprised herself by actually having a good time. Malina insisted on her attendance in costume, although Beverly argued with her half-heartedly, saying that the hostess didn't need a costume. Malina had won, of course-she generally did-but Beverly had the last laugh; she wore a Vulcan full-mourning outfit, complete with deep green veil and voluminous robes colored with all the swirled-together golds and reds and browns of the desert. Malina, who'd lazily opted for some traditional costume from home, had been furious at first, but had quickly recovered her usual good humor when she realized that Beverly was truly enjoying herself-and that the costume was a joke at her expense.

After that party, although she still ached from the loss of Jack Crusher, Beverly found it a little easier to get through the nights.

Every year after that, up until her arrival on the _Enterprise_, Crusher had given her Halloween parties. Once aboard the flagship of Starfleet, she hadn't felt comfortable, somehow, in continuing the tradition. The ship-and Jean-Luc Picard, old friend of the family or not-seemed much too dignified for that sort of thing. Then, of course, she left, and her year at Starfleet Medical had been far too hectic for her to even organize her home life, much less parties.

Now, she was back. And she was far more comfortable on the _Enterprise_ now, after five years, comfortable with herself and with her position and her shipmates. Even Picard seemed more relaxed now. But the tradition had been disrupted, and it didn't occur to her, as the unchanging "September" of deep space came to an end, that her once-favorite holiday was fast approaching. All she was thinking, as she sat staring moodily out of the observation window in Ten-Forward, was that it had been over a month since she'd heard from Wesley.

A shadow fell across the table. Crusher looked up, irritated at being disturbed, then turned her frown into a welcoming smile as she saw Deanna Troi looking down at her. "May I join you?" the ship's counselor asked. Crusher nodded.

"You don't look very happy today," Troi said carefully. The black mood she'd sensed in her friend the minute she entered the lounge had abated somewhat at her appearance, but Crusher still seemed almost depressed.

The first response to her comment was a heavy sigh. Troi waited patiently. Crusher finally turned her eyes from the window to those of her friend. "I don't know why I feel so down," she confessed. "I guess it's because Wes hasn't sent a message in a while. I know he's working hard to make up for his lost year, but he's been able to send at least a small 'hi-how-are-you' once every two weeks or so. It's been over a month since he even sent one of those, and at least six months since I've actually seen him." She grinned sheepishly. "I know it's a silly thing to get moody over."

Troi shook her head in disagreement, her dark eyes serious. "No it isn't. He's your son, he's very far away, and he's growing up. It isn't just that you haven't heard from him recently; it's those other factors as well."

Crusher nodded slowly. "I guess you're right," she agreed, then added, in a tone of intense frustration: "I just wish I could stop worrying about...things."

Troi blinked, but showed no other outward sign that Crusher's emotions had subtly altered since the beginning of the conversation. She was, Troi sensed, no longer speaking only about her son; the emotions the empath was sensing now spoke more of regret and loss than worry. Intriguing though the empathic information was, however, Troi knew she would have to file it away for discussion with the doctor at a later date; for now, as her father used to say, she had bigger fish to fry. She therefore replied to the statement and not to the emotions behind it as she told the CMO, "You're a mother; you're supposed to worry. It's probably something simple; perhaps he's met someone." She leaned her chin on her hand and looked at the other woman intently. "What you need," Troi added before Crusher could respond to that less-than-reassuring idea, "is something to distract you."

Crusher assumed the identical position and expression. "What would you suggest, Counselor Troi?" she asked, with just a hint of laughter to mar the imitation.

"A party," was the unhesitating response.

"A party," Crusher repeated doubtfully.

Troi nodded firmly. "A party. I've heard that you used to give fantastic Halloween parties."

Crusher leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms suspiciously. "Who told you that?"

Troi smiled. "An old friend of yours whom I happened to speak to recently."

Crusher frowned. "Who?"

"Someone who wanted to surprise you," a familiar voice said from behind the doctor's head. She'd been so intent on Troi, she hadn't noticed the other person's approach. "I was in the neighborhood, so I decided to drop by-" was all Dr. Malina Kurtis, exopsychiatrist, was able to get out before being engulfed in a bear hug by Beverly Crusher, who had whirled around and risen in one motion at the other woman's first word.

"Malina!" Crusher stepped back, her hands still on the other woman's shoulders, and looked her up and down as if to confirm her reality. "I don't believe this! What are you doing here?" Her voice was filled with delight.

Malina shrugged. "Visiting, like I said. Allen is doing research in this sector for the next six months. When I found out the _Enterprise_ was here as well, doing that fun charting-type stuff you guys love so much, I called Jean-Luc, he hooked me up with Deanna, and the rest, as they say, is history!" She sat down with a flourish and looked triumphantly back up at her former room-mate. "I've been given visitor status for the next month, since you'll be here for at least that long." She turned serious. "I couldn't give up the chance to see you; do you realize this is the first time our paths have actually intersected in almost _eight_ years?"

Crusher slowly sat in her abandoned seat. "My God, Malina; has it really been that long?"

Malina nodded vigorously. "You betcha, Rusty. Do you feel old yet?" She leaned forward confidentially. "I actually found a gray hair the other day."

Crusher looked startled. "I thought your family didn't get gray!"

"We don't," Malina said seriously. Then her face broke into an infectious grin. "The gray was on Allen!" She and Crusher were both still laughing when Deanna Troi slipped quietly from her seat and headed for the door. The other women were so absorbed in their conversation that they didn't notice. The ship's counselor smiled to herself as she threaded her way through the maze of people cluttering the lounge. She didn't feel left out; after all, her sole purpose today in approaching her friend had been to set up Malina's arrival. Beverly's spirits had lifted considerably at the sight of the Polynesian woman, her joy at the unexpected reunion completely submerging her worries about Wesley and whatever else it was that had been bothering her. Later, when the visit was over, Troi would speak to her friend. If she still needed to.

But she couldn't help wondering about it as she left Ten-Forward and started down the corridor. Nothing had happened recently to explain the doctor's sudden downswing in mood; no patients had been lost in Sickbay, no one had been killed or severely injured on an Away Team Mission, Crusher had received no bad news from her family; even Wesley's little "escapade" at Starfleet Academy was no longer an issue. As Crusher had said, he was buckling down and seriously attempting to make up his lost year as quickly as possible; she and the doctor had spoken about it right after the event and in several counseling sessions in the immediate months that followed it. Crusher had seemed, in Troi's professional opinion, to be handling the situation quite well. Not that buried feelings couldn't resurface, of course, but Troi knew that wasn't what she was sensing. No, something else had happened to bring on Crusher's recent depression.

"Good morning, Counselor."

Troi started; she'd been so lost in thought, she hadn't heard the Captain come up behind her until he spoke. "Good morning, Captain," she replied, half-smiling in embarrassment at her reaction. "I didn't hear you."

He smiled back in acknowledgement, then nodded as he veered off into a side corridor. Toward Stellar Sciences. Troi's smile faded as she remembered that the Captain had been spending rather a lot of time with the new Chief of Stellar Sciences, Lt. Commander Netta Darrin. More time than could be accounted for by mere professional interest. And by Troi's reckoning, the captain's interest in Lt. Commander Darrin roughly coincided with the beginning of Crusher's depression. "Coincidence," Troi murmured to herself, but her voice lacked conviction. That was carrying the long arm of coincidence a bit too far. Crusher's feelings toward Captain Picard had always been a mixture of defensiveness, friendship, occasional irritation, admiration, and maybe something more, something harder to pinpoint; what if Troi had totally misread the situation? Something else to keep in the back of her mind, she decided as she reached the turbolift. She would just have to quietly monitor the situation.

Malina was absolutely shocked that her friend had been so remiss in her party-giving responsibilities. "Not even one?" she asked incredulously as the ship's CMO walked her to her cabin. "Not even a little one?" Malina pinched two fingers extremely close together to demonstrate.

Crusher shook her head. "Not even a little one," she replied, mimicking her friend's gesture. "I've been busy." It sounded weak; Malina would never buy it.

She didn't. "Uh-uh, Rusty; no good. And don't try to tell me Jean-Luc wouldn't sanction it, either; whenever he was on Earth, he used to come to those things _regularly_."

Crusher felt a blush creep over her face; she'd actually considered using that argument. Once again, she should have known. After all, Malina had known the captain of the _Enterprise_ even longer than Beverly, having met him as an exchange-student in high school, when she'd still been Malina Kalomi. Jean-Luc Picard had taken the shy young girl under his wing, helped her to learn French-actually _learn_ it, not just depend on a universal translator to help her get by-and introduced her to her future husband, Allen Kurtis, another exchange student from Germany. Something Picard had once lightly referred to as one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made. "The dance of relationships is a complex weave, always changing and evolving," was one of Nana Howard's favorite sayings, and it haunted her now. _Why,_ Crusher thought as an image of Netta Darrin and her strained arm danced through her mind, _couldn't things just stay the same?_

"Hello! Earth—er, I mean, space—to Beverly!" Malina looked concerned. "You okay?"

Crusher nodded. "Sorry," she apologized, resuming the walk. "I was just...thinking."

"About what?" Malina asked curiously. "What kind of thought could actually bring you to a dead stop-not to mention that blush I still see?"

"I was just thinking," Crusher said deliberately, "how disappointed Jean-Luc must have been when you fell head-over-heels for Allen." Misdirection, pure and simple, but close enough to the truth for Malina to believe it-and be distracted by it.

It was Malina's turn to blush as they reached the guest quarters. "No fair!" she protested, only half-jokingly. "He acted like an older brother all the time, always so protective and supportive, making sure I met people and didn't just mope around being homesick. How was I supposed to know how he felt?" She followed Crusher through the door and surveyed the luxurious cabin with a happy grin. "Now _this_ is what I call living!"

"Well, I think he's managed to get over it," Crusher replied to her friend's question with only a small trace of irony. "After all, it's been how many years?"

"Polynesians don't count that high," came Malina's prompt response as she allowed a bland, sleepy expression to come over her face. "We try to avoid big numbers. Too complicated for us simple fishing people."

"Yeah right," Crusher muttered. The two women took one look at each other and burst into uncontrollable laughter, each flopping onto a chair when their knees gave out.

"Seriously, Mal," Crusher continued when her breath returned, "How are you doing? Is Allen feeling any better?" He'd been fighting a rare-and so far, incurable-form of leukemia for the past ten years. Every time it went into remission, everyone's hopes were raised. But it always came back, each time a little worse than the last. The prognosis was not good, but there was always hope for a cure; Malina and Allen, Beverly and all their friends, too, continued to cling to that hope.

The hope of a cure was a large part of the reason Crusher had accepted her one-year post at Starfleet Medical. A promising line of research being followed there had lured her away from the _Enterprise_-and Wesley-but it had fallen through, a complete and utter failure, after only six months. Six months after that, when word came that Katherine Pulaski had decided she wanted a planetside posting, Crusher had requested a transfer back to the ship that she now thought of as "home", reasoning that she could finish her own line of research there as well as anywhere else. And, of course, be close to Wesley once again, at least until he finally made it into Starfleet Academy. Yes, she'd had very logical reasons for returning to the ship, and very carefully kept herself from thinking about any other reasons she might have-or any other person she might have missed more than she would have believed possible.

"He's been doing all right, Rusty," Malina was replying to Crusher's question. "We're keeping our fingers crossed." A shadow crossed her face. "But we know it's a losing battle; we've long since resigned ourselves to that." She shook her head, as if to clear away the fears Beverly knew she must have, and her friend felt a twinge of guilt. Her worries for Wesley's well-being seemed trivial compared to what she knew the other woman was facing.

"Well," Crusher said, deliberately lightening the tone of the conversation, "have you figured out what our next contest should be? After all, it's been a while."

Malina's eyes lit up at that question as she nodded. "Hair," she replied succinctly.

Crusher's eyebrow rose. She and Malina had decided, while they were still in medical school, to have a contest to see whose hair would grow the longest before the end of the semester. There were only two rules established: they would wear wigs so that the results would be a complete surprise to everyone, and they were not to tell anyone. "Not even anyone you're sleeping with," Malina had said solemnly. Jean-Luc Picard would never have recognized the mischievous prankster the shy young Polynesian girl had grown into, Crusher remembered thinking as she agreed to the terms.

Aside from those two terms and the agreement that it had to be their own, natural hair, no extenders or grafts, there were no rules. Crusher used every fast-grow shampoo and conditioner she could find, and she knew darn well that Malina was doing the same thing, and was probably bribing her ancestors into helping her to boot. For all that she was a modern product of the 24th century, she was still an islander, whose family still held with many of the ancient traditions. They stopped short of tossing sacrifices into volcanoes to appease Pele, but kept other beliefs, including a reverence for the wisdom of their ancestors.

That, Crusher had always contended, was what had given Malina the edge. At the end of the year, when the wigs had been removed before the astonished eyes of Allen Kurtis and Beverly's highly embarrassed pre-Jack Crusher boyfriend, Malina's hair was a good two inches longer than her friend's red tresses.

From then on, at least once a year they held their contests. The second one-while Allen and Malina were having problems and had briefly split up-it had been who could get the most dates with the most men. Malina won that one by default; Jack Crusher had been the first man Beverly dated-and the last. Another time it had been something to do with tribbles. Now, Malina was suggesting hair again.

"We've already done hair," Crusher objected while these thoughts flashed quickly through her mind.

Malina shrugged. "So? That was how many years ago?"

Crusher rolled her eyes. "Starfleet women don't count that far _back_," she muttered, then returned her gaze to a grinning Malina. "You still haven't said why you want to do hair again-or is it something different?" she asked with sudden suspicion. "I hate to tell you this, but I am _not_ shaving my head!"

Malina shuddered and put a protective hand to her own glossy black tresses. "No, even I wouldn't go that far. But I do have an ulterior motive," she confessed.

Crusher nodded sagely. "I knew it. Out with it."

Malina looked slightly guilty as she explained. "I just thought that if we made it a contest, then I'll be able to fight the urge to cut it."

Crusher stared at her friend in confusion as Malina hurried to explain. "See, I always say I'm going to let it get long again"-her hair was the same length as Beverly's, coming just to her shoulders-"but then I keep getting impatient and chopping it. It's driving Allen crazy; he wishes I hadn't cut it in the first place. Why," she interrupted herself, "do men like long hair on women so much?"

Crusher shrugged, grinning in spite of herself. "It's one of those mysteries that seem destined never to be solved. So," she added, returning to the subject at hand, "what you're saying is that you want me to be your conscience?"

Malina nodded. "That's about it. What do you say?"

"I'll do it. But we'll have to arrange to be in the same place at the same time in a year. Can you manage it?"

Malina nodded once again, eagerly this time. "You betcha, Rusty. I don't think the wigs are really necessary this time around, but I think the other rules should stand: no extenders, and no telling anyone, not even someone you're sleeping with." She paused. "You've kept that part of it for our other little contests, haven't you?"

Crusher rolled her eyes as she rose to her feet and walked to the dresser. "I have never told anyone, not even someone I was sleeping with-" Oops. That was what Malina had been waiting for; she pounced on that statement like a cat on a mouse.

"So you admit it!" she crowed. "You finally _did_ sleep with someone!"

"So what if I did?" Crusher countered defensively. It was no good denying anything; Malina would never believe her now. "I'm a grown woman, with no strings attached-"

"You've never mentioned anyone in your letters, and the last time I talked to you face to face, you were still being faithful to Jack's memory," Malina interrupted, her dark eyes serious for a change. "I'm just glad you finally broke down and admitted that you're still a living, breathing grown woman with no strings attached, that's all." The mischief returned to her expression as she moved to stand behind her friend, peering critically over Crusher's shoulder at their respective hair lengths. "Who was it? Jean-Luc?"

"No," came the quick reply-a little sharper than Beverly had intended. She looked into the reflection of Malina's startled eyes, then turned away. "There were a couple of men, but both affairs have been over for a while. Neither of them was Captain Picard." She walked away from the mirror to fidget restlessly with the computer controls set into the top of the nightstand.

"Captain?" Malina repeated softly. "So formal, Rusty. Why?"

"Because he's my commanding officer," came the equally soft reply. "Because there's nothing going on, and there never will be." Was that a trace of regret in her voice? In spite of the finality ringing through the words, Malina was certain she heard the longing as well. "Besides, he's seeing someone right now." It was a warning; Crusher knew her friend, and knew that Malina would understand the warning. It was not a subject to be discussed; not now, maybe not ever.

Malina pursed her lips and studied Crusher's back. "Of course," she replied, her voice placating. It was a good thing Crusher couldn't see her face at that moment; the calculating smile that passed quickly across her lips would have sent the _Enterprise's_ CMO fleeing in terror. However, she didn't see it, and Malina was confident of her ability to put the decision she'd just reached into motion. Jean-Luc was "seeing someone" right now, was he? Well, things changed, and Malina Leilani Kalomi Kurtis had never been one to let anything stand in her way.

"Now, about that party-" she began, deliberately changing the subject to one more congenial to Beverly-and one which was crucial to her new plans...

* * *

_A/N: This is another old story I decided to dust off and upload. More Picard/Crusher fluff and plenty of references to make it clear when the story is set. I hope my OC isn't too annoying; I wrote this back in 1994 and my writing certainly wasn't as polished as I hope it is now. More chapters will follow as I review them for an egregious errors or wince-inducing dialoge._


	2. Bad News

The party was postponed. Worf interrupted the excited planning session with a message for Malina: Allen had collapsed at the research station and she had to return immediately. But before she left she made Crusher promise to have that party next year, barring any unforeseen circumstances. Then she was gone once again, leaving a sober Beverly Crusher to ponder the fairness of a universe that would allow so much suffering to happen to two such wonderful people.

She spent every spare minute after Malina's all-too-brief visit working on her research, following up leads, backing up painfully when she went down a blind alley, cheering other's successes, and praying for Allen. She'd had no formal religious upbringing, but Nana Howard had instilled in her only grandchild a firm belief in a higher consciousness to the universe, a belief she found comforting at times like these.

Troi watched her friend carefully during this period of time, noting her intense concentration on her work. Although she applauded the doctor's desire to help her friend's husband, she also questioned the intensity with which she tackled her research. She worked far into the night, came in early, spent almost all her off-time reading and researching, even cancelled her few social engagements-most notably, any with Captain Picard. It only served to strengthen Troi's conviction that the captain's relationship with Netta Darrin was making the CMO uncomfortable, to say the least. When it finally came to the point that Crusher began snapping at her crew for imagined faults, severely lowering morale in her department, Troi decided it was time to confront her about the situation.

"Would you like to tell me what's bothering you?"

Beverly Crusher tensed visibly at Deanna Troi's quiet words, then stubbornly shook her head "no" and continued walking. It was obvious that she hoped the ship's counselor would drop the subject.

A hope that was doomed to disappointment. Deanna lengthened her stride to match that of the hurrying doctor, moving purposefully until the two women were side by side. "Does it have anything to do with Captain Picard and Lt. Commander Darrin?"

The second question succeeded where the first one failed. The CMO of the _Enterprise_ came to a dead stop; her head snapped around, and her eyes focused angrily-and disbelievingly-on those of her friend. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut and turned away, once again resuming her manic pace.

It was all the answer Deanna needed. She hurried to catch up with Crusher again, this time laying a hand on her friend's arm. "Beverly, I really think we need to talk about this," she said quietly. "Please come to my office at the end of your shift."

"I have some research I have to finish up," Crusher began, then faltered under the steady gaze the Counselor fixed on her.

"I really don't think I need to make it more than a recommendation," Troi said softly. "Do I?"

The threat was no less real for the friendly tone in which it was conveyed; the doctor knew quite well that Deanna was perfectly capable of turning a request into an order without the slightest hesitation. Especially if she thought someone was in serious need of her services as Ship's Counselor.

Beverly nodded her head in defeat, and Deanna released her arm and slowed down. She stood and watched her friend disappear around the bend in the corridor, her face concerned.

She was angry. She was angry at Deanna Troi for cornering her and making her think about things she'd rather not think about; she'd done a perfectly splendid job of avoiding thinking about anything except Allen and Malina for quite a while, and Deanna had spoiled that. She was angry at herself for needing to avoid her own thoughts in the first place. But most of all, she was angry at Jean-Luc Picard, for being so insensitive as to place her in this position. That anger led in turn to more anger at herself, because she knew damn well how unfair she was being.

No, she was not happy right now, and the knowledge that Deanna was right, that she needed someone to talk to, was galling to her. Because of all things, she prided herself on her ability to keep her life on an even keel, to keep her emotions firmly under her own control.

Now, that life was completely upside down. And it was all Jean-Luc's fault.

Troi was relieved to see Beverly Crusher that afternoon; she'd half expected the doctor to find some excuse not to make it. The fact that she'd actually shown up meant that she was more upset than she herself realized. Now, if she would only talk about it...

"Hello, Beverly," Troi said. Crusher mumbled a response and plopped into a chair, arms folded defensively. Troi sighed mentally; this wasn't going to be easy. "I've been hearing some disturbing things from your staff." May as well take the bull by the horns; another of her father's favorite sayings.

"I know; I've turned into a towering dictator and the queen of all nit-pickers," Crusher replied bluntly. "I never thought of myself as particularly bitchy before, but I've been discovering several unpleasant things lately. Things about myself."

"Like what?" Troi asked, content to allow Crusher to continue. Apparently, confronting her in the hall had done quite a bit of good, if the doctor was willing to be so honest from the beginning.

"Like the fact that I can't handle everything, not like I thought I could. That I can cave in to stress just like anyone else." A wry smile. "I never, ever would have expected to take out my personal frustrations on my staff; that just isn't like me. Or at least, it isn't the way I'd expected myself to be. No matter what the provocation."

"Such as-?" Troi prodded.

"Such as worrying about other people's...relationships...when one of my friends is dying," Crusher finished after a long pause. "I just feel so guilty sometimes, so selfish, for worrying about my own relatively minor problems while my friends are going through such a difficult experience."

"You shouldn't feel guilty for thinking about your own situation," Troi said gently. "Your problems are just as valid as theirs. Unresolved feelings can be ignored for a while, but they invariably surface when you least expect them to. You obviously have such unresolved feelings about Captain Picard. Feelings that have unfortunately been put to the test at a time when your ability to deal with your life has been severely strained by other factors, such as Wesley's troubles at the Academy and your friend's illness."

Crusher nodded reluctantly, half-relieved and half-annoyed at Troi's ability to get to the heart of her confusion. "I suppose I'd just gotten used to our relationship as it stood," she murmured. "I was comfortable with things the way they were, the way they'd grown to be over the past several years. I suppose I had an unrealistic expectation that things wouldn't change." Nana's quote flashed through her mind once again.

"And yet you weren't this upset when we met Vash," Deanna offered quietly.

Beverly shrugged and lowered her eyes. "I think that's because I knew she wouldn't be staying," she said after a moment's consideration. "Her lifestyle and personality were so clearly removed from our own existence, that I didn't need to see her as...well, as a threat," she admitted painfully. "She was not going to be around forever."

"Like Odan?"

Beverly's cheeks grew hot. "I was hoping you wouldn't bring that up," she murmured, then raised a hand to forestall any comments on Troi's part. "Sorry. That just sort of slipped out. But yes, like Odan. Wonderful while it lasted, but when it was over, it was _over_." A long pause followed, and when Crusher resumed speaking, it was in a quieter voice. "Now, the rules have changed." Her eyes met those of the sympathetic counselor. "This time, the situation isn't likely to just go away. And I don't know what to do."

"Perhaps you should speak to Jean-Luc," Troi suggested, deliberately using the captain's first name. "Let him know what you've been feeling."

Crusher shook her head. "I don't think that would be a good idea, not right now," she said tightly. "I couldn't do that to him, put him in such an awkward position. It wouldn't be fair."

"What about your own feelings? What about being fair to yourself?" Troi asked ruthlessly. "This is something that needs to be resolved between the two of you. And soon."

Crusher rose to her feet and paced around the edges of the room. "I have to think about it," she finally said, and Troi knew that was the end of the matter, as far as the doctor was concerned. For now. The Counselor nodded, acknowledging the doctor's words as well as the emotions behind them. She was still confused, still very uncertain and perhaps even frightened, but she'd relieved some of the stress that had been building over the past few weeks. Things should, at the very least, return to normal in Sickbay.

"You know you can talk to me whenever you want to," was all she said. Crusher nodded, smiled briefly, then headed for the door, radiating nothing now but intense relief.

Less than a week later, Lt. Commander Darrin transferred off the ship and out of their lives. Crusher returned to normal; status quo was achieved without confrontation, and the counselor couldn't decide if she was more relieved or frustrated. Sooner or later, Crusher would have to speak to Picard about their relationship, and the fact that "the competition" had left the ship was actually less helpful than if she'd remained aboard. All it did was allow Crusher to slip back into her previous habit of avoidance; her frantic activity on behalf of Allen Kurtis continued, but she no longer allowed it to affect her day-to-day activities. Troi did not like it, not one little bit. But there was nothing she could do except wait and watch.

Less than four months later, Picard and Crusher received a brief communique from Malina. Allen had died.

Her two friends attended the funeral services on Earth. After it was over, Malina took Beverly aside, showing her how long her hair had grown and asking her to continue the contest.

"It helps me keep going," she told Crusher simply. "Allen thought it was a great idea-I told you how much he liked my hair long-" She almost broke down, and Crusher touched her arm lightly, sympathetically. Malina shook her head with a half-smile, blinking away tears. "He really wanted to come to your party, the one you were going to have for Halloween. Do you think-would you be able to still have one this year? I can arrange to be in the area," she turned to smile briefly at someone approaching from behind the two women, "if a certain Starship Captain can be persuaded to give me those scrumptious guest quarters for the month I missed last time."

Jean-Luc Picard nodded, smiling warmly as he reached over to clasp Malina's hand. "Of course; you're always welcome, you know that," he said quietly. "If Halloween is when you wish to visit, then Halloween it shall be."

Crusher excused herself with a murmur. She could tell that Jean-Luc and Malina needed a few minutes alone together. At least Malina would recover; Crusher had been afraid that Allen's death would devastate her friend. But she seemed to be holding herself together fairly well, as well as could be expected, and much better than Beverly had when Jack died. But then, Malina had had more time to become used to the idea of losing the man she loved; her last few communiqués before the funeral had made it quite clear that she was in the painful process of resigning herself to the inevitable.


	3. Running Interference

Once back on the _Enterprise_, Crusher threw herself into her research, more determined than ever to try and find a cure. It might be too late to save Allen, but she would do her damndest to keep anyone else from having to face that kind of pain. And the research once again served as an outlet for her, a way to avoid thinking about things. Like the question of whether she was deliberately keeping her emotional distance from Jean-Luc, as she had before Netta Darrin entered their lives.

She continued to keep a tight lid on her emotions until the day a diplomatic mission to a planet called Kessprit forced her to once again confront her own feelings-confront, and ultimately, retreat from them.

"Why did I do that?" Crusher wondered, even as she walked down the corridor to her own quarters. Jean-Luc was disappointed by her reaction to his tentative offer of intimacy; she didn't have to be an empath to sense that. But he was also a gentleman; when a lady said no, however obliquely, he would accept that answer, however reluctantly. And she knew he would never speak to her about it again, unless she wanted him to.

The problem was, she didn't know if she wanted him to or not. His quiet confession of having once been in love with her had staggered her, shaken her placid views of their relationship, and-she admitted-frightened her. It had been safe to feel something more than friendship for him, when it had seemed to be something only she was feeling. Netta Darrin's relationship with the captain had upset the balance, but her leaving had restored the status quo. Which, Crusher knew, hadn't really made Deanna Troi very happy, but since the doctor's personal life was no longer affecting her professional life, she couldn't really say anything. She'd dropped hints every now and then, but Crusher had ignored them until Troi finally gave up.

Now, Picard was hinting that he'd not only been in love with her, but that he might be willing to explore the possibilities of a relationship with her now, one beyond friendship, and what did she do? "Run away like a frightened child. Not very grown up, Crusher," she murmured to herself as she entered her cabin. But she honestly didn't know what else to do; her own reactions confused her as much as Jean-Luc's confession. For now, she decided, the best thing to do would be nothing.

Fortunately for her peace of mind, she was unaware that others had also picked up on the peculiar situation between herself and Picard; had picked up on it, and decided to take matters into their own hands. Into one pair of hands in particular.

"What can you tell me about Captain Robert April?"

Picard looked up, a bemused expression on his face. "The first captain of the first Starship _Enterprise_? What would you like to know?"

Guinan shrugged and slid into the seat opposite the current captain of the current Starship _Enterprise_. "Some of the crew were discussing him the other day, and he seemed like an interesting man. As the resident expert on ships named _Enterprise_, I thought you might know something more about him."

Picard pursed his lips thoughtfully. "He commanded the _Enterprise_ NCC-1701 for five or six years, after coming out of an early retirement in order to take charge of the new Starship program-"

Guinan shook her head. "I didn't mean tell me about his career. I was hoping you could tell me something about the man. For example, is it true that he was the first and only captain of any Starship named _Enterprise_ to be married?"

Picard arched an eyebrow. "I seem to recall that James Kirk was also married-"

"After he retired," Guinan corrected him smoothly. "Bob April was the first and so far only _Enterprise_ captain to be married while on active duty, one of the few in Starfleet at that time to be married to a fellow officer for more than a few years, if what I heard was correct. Do you know who his wife was?"

"Who is providing whom with information here?" Picard demanded, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Guinan shrugged. "I was just wondering if what I'd heard was true. Is it?"

Picard nodded warily. "Yes, it's true."

"Is it also true that they served together on the _Enterprise_?" Guinan continued innocently.

Another curt nod. "She was his chief medical officer, as a matter of fact." A pause. "Might I ask why we are having this particular conversation? At this particular time?"

Again, Guinan shrugged. "I just found it interesting, that's all. There aren't that many captains in Starfleet who've married at all, at least not while on active duty. And although most of them do end up married to other Starfleet officers, only rarely has a captain has married an officer on his own ship. I find that extremely interesting. I wonder," she continued speculatively, "if the recent change in Starfleet policy allowing and encouraging families on board ships will reverse that trend?"

The tension in Picard's body throughout Guinan's quiet musings would have been evident to even the most empathically insensitive being, which his present companion was not. If his distress was affecting her, however, she managed to hide it quite well. "Guinan," Picard ground out, "where is this conversation going? Exactly?" Images of Kessprit wafted through his mind, images he sternly suppressed, images he'd been suppressing since the end of that entire diplomatic fiasco. Images that still haunted his dreams.

Guinan tilted her head thoughtfully. "I've noticed a certain amount of...reservation between yourself and Dr. Crusher since you returned from Kessprit."

There it was. Picard, who had been congratulating himself on how well he'd been managing his emotional turmoil, was abruptly forced to face reality. Apparently he wasn't nearly as adept at hiding his emotions-at least, from some people-as he thought he was. Kessprit had a deeper hold on him than he'd allowed himself to realize.

Guinan was looking at him attentively. "You want very much to tell me it's none of my business," she said before he could speak.

Picard nodded, frowning slightly. "But you won't," Guinan continued, "because you and I go back a long way, and you know that I don't just pry into your affairs for no reason." Another slow nod. "So what happened between you two?"

"Nothing," Picard finally replied.

"Ah," Guinan murmured understandingly. "I see. And whose decision was it that nothing was going to happen?"

Picard sighed briefly and turned his gaze down to the table. "It was a...mutual decision," he replied softly.

"A little more 'mutual' on one side than on another, perhaps?" Guinan asked shrewdly.

That was it. Picard rose to his feet and turned a cold stare on the bartender. "I do not press my attentions where they are unwanted, Guinan. Once someone has as much as told me they are uninterested in such attention, I consider the matter closed. You would do well to offer the same consideration." He turned and stalked out of Ten-Forward without a single glance backward, damning Kessprit in his mind for the thousandth time. All that blasted place had ever done was bring him misery; when would it end? he wondered bleakly as the doors closed behind him.

Guinan let out her breath and, unexpectedly, grinned. "Jean-Luc, you have got it bad," she murmured. "It's a pity you don't have a better grasp on how a woman's mind works." She rose to her feet and returned to her post behind the bar, then paused. With a slight smile, she moved down to the communications panel. "Guinan to Counselor Troi. Are you available?"

Things returned, yet again, to normal on the _Enterprise_. People came aboard, people transferred off; babies were born, promotions given, children attended school, letters were sent and received. Time passed, and the uneasy truce between Crusher and Picard slowly returned to what it had been before Kessprit, before Netta Darrin, before the death of Allen Kurtis. Picard avoided Guinan for a while, Crusher avoided Troi, but when neither brought up the subject of Kessprit or the captain's relationship with his CMO, that gradually returned to normal as well. The captain and his CMO continued to share breakfasts, although not quite as often, and even the rare dinner or lunch. They talked about many things-friends, family, work. By mutual and unspoken agreement, Kessprit was never mentioned.

Now, it was October once again, and Malina Kurtis was coming to visit. And to help plan a long-delayed Halloween party.

Guinan could hardly wait.

Malina-not completely recovered, of course, but almost her usual sunny self-insisted on selecting the costumes for her two friends, breezily ignoring Crusher's half-hearted protests. Even Picard yielded to her insistence, although she refused to let either of them know just what she had in mind for them, saying only that it had to be a surprise.

The three of them met in Ten-Forward to discuss details of the party the day Malina arrived. Guinan followed their three-way exchange with discreet interest, smiling to herself as she polished a glass and placed it on the shelf below the bar. Captain Picard and Dr. Crusher, she decided, lost that argument before it even started, and they knew it. So did Malina Kurtis, who followed them out of Ten-Forward with a decidedly smug expression on her face. It was quite obvious to both Guinan and Counselor Troi that she had something planned, something besides the Halloween party. Troi watched Malina's subtle manipulation of her friends with professional interest no more intense than her personal interest, but made no move to either help or hinder the Polynesian woman. She was content to merely watch and wait, secure in her knowledge that Malina would do nothing to harm her friends, and that her personal feelings weren't overpowering her professional instincts.

Guinan also avoided interfering with Malina's plans-up to a point. The night of the party, she knew, would also be the night that Malina's plans came to fruition. One way or another, successful or not, everything would happen then. It was obvious; one didn't need empathy or superior alien intuition to figure it out. No matter what the exact details, Guinan heartily approved and wished Malina the best of luck in accomplishing her goal. In fact, there might even be something she could do to help things along...

Jean-Luc Picard walked into Ten-Forward. He hadn't planned on it; he'd fully intended on going straight to his quarters after coming off-duty tonight, to work on some long-overdue paperwork that Will Riker had been badgering him about for almost a week now. But he changed his mind while still on the turbolift. Ten-Forward had a way of relaxing him; even when Guinan wasn't there to talk to, the general atmosphere of the place was enough to make him feel as if he were truly off-duty. Not that he or any other Starfleet captain ever really was-especially not on his own ship-but Ten-Forward at least gave him an illusion of peace he cherished.

Guinan was waiting for him. There was no other way to put it; the minute he walked through the door, her head swiveled, her eyes met his, and that secretive, serene smile hovered about her lips as he paused, momentarily nonplussed. She was standing in front of the bar; in her hands were two cups-one containing an exotic concoction he had seen her drinking in the past, and the other a steaming cup of what looked suspiciously like tea.

Picard raised an eyebrow as he continued walking into the room. Guinan handed him the tea without comment, walked with him as he took a table in the corner, sat in the chair opposite him. "How did you know I was coming?" he asked, taking the initiative and ignoring the twinge of unease he felt at the fact that she was waiting for him. Waiting to pounce, he thought, uneasily recalling the last time Guinan had been waiting for him in Ten-Forward. He dismissed the thought irritably. Kessprit was over and done with; he couldn't let it haunt him forever.

Guinan's smile deepened. "What makes you think I knew you were coming?" she asked innocently.

Picard's gaze moved down to the tea, over to her own drink, and finally back up to her face. "I just have a feeling," he replied dryly.

"Perhaps I was standing there for three nights in a row that you didn't show up," she countered, her voice serene but her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Sooner or later you come here, Captain; it doesn't take extra-sensory perception to know that. Maybe I just picked the right night to have a cup of tea ready for you."

Picard shook his head with a sigh that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. "Well, then, what exactly did you wish to discuss?" He raised a finger to silence the comment he saw coming. "It doesn't take extra-sensory perception for me to know that, either. So please, just answer the question."

"Malina Kurtis and Beverly Crusher," Guinan replied promptly.

Picard couldn't help it; his left eyebrow climbed toward the top of his head without conscious thought. "Is there a problem?"

Guinan shrugged expressively. "I was hoping you could tell me that. How long have they known each other?"

"They were in medical school together," Picard replied, still looking puzzled. "As a matter of fact, I believe I introduced Malina to Beverly. Or Malina introduced Beverly to me, I'm not sure which. Why?"

Guinan shook her head slowly. "I'm just getting-well, to use an old phrase, I'm getting 'strange vibes' from the two of them."

Picard looked at Guinan cautiously. "Can you be more specific?"

Guinan shook her head once again. "Afraid not, Captain," she replied apologetically. "I realize that Dr. Kurtis lost her husband recently, so part of what I'm picking up is grief, but there's more to it than that. All I do know is that it has something to do with Dr. Crusher." She hesitated, then, "I get the distinct feeling that she's worried about Beverly, but I'm not sure why." A little lie, but one in a good cause never counted, that was Guinan's philosophy.

Picard frowned. "Counselor Troi hasn't mentioned anything to me about the doctor having problems," he said slowly. "Perhaps it's something just between Malina and Beverly, something personal. Perhaps," he added, "I should speak to Malina about it."

Guinan nodded her agreement. "Perhaps you should," she said, then rose from the table, taking her untouched drink with her. "If you'll excuse me, Captain, I have to be getting back to work. Thanks for taking the time to talk." Picard merely nodded abstractedly as she headed back toward the bar, his mind still working on the puzzle Guinan had presented him with. He took one sip of his tea, then put it back on the table and rose abruptly to his feet. Perhaps he should speak to Malina immediately. Nodding to Guinan, he walked out of Ten-Forward.

The door to Malina's quarters chimed. "Come in," she called out, not at all surprised to see Picard. "Greetings, O Mighty Starship Captain," she said impudently, walking forward to meet him.

Picard started to raise an eyebrow, then thought better of it as he stepped into the room. Malina was staring at him, a small smile hovering about the edges of her lips. "How is your visit going?" he asked at random.

"Just fine," Malina replied, still smiling. She cocked her head to one side. "Is there something wrong, Jean-Luc?" She walked back to perch on the edge of her small sofa.

Picard shook his head as he sat on the chair opposite. "No, I wouldn't say there was anything wrong," he replied. "I was just...concerned about you."

Malina raised an eyebrow. "Concerned?" she repeated. He nodded uncomfortably, wondering briefly what on earth had possessed him to come here with only the vaguest of suspicions. "Shouldn't you be siccing Deanna on me?"

"I'm not trying to set you up for a counseling session," Picard protested.

Malina nodded, the smile once again firmly in place. "I know, I was just teasing. Deanna has already told me I'm adjusting fairly well and that if I need to talk, she's available. Which I'm sure you know as well," she added. "Now tell me what you're really doing here. Please."

Picard sighed and shook his head slightly, a smile of his own tugging at his lips. "I'm here because someone whom I trust said that I should speak to you."

"About what?" Malina asked, obviously intrigued.

"About Beverly Crusher," Picard replied bluntly. Enough with this foolish skipping around the subject; Malina was an old friend, for heaven's sake!

Both eyebrows rose at that revelation. "Talk to me about Beverly." Picard nodded. "In what way?"

Picard shrugged, an elaborate Gallic shrug that clearly conveyed his confusion. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "The friend seemed...quite concerned about her, and about you. Are you two having problems?"

An odd expression flickered over Malina's face, then vanished as she replied, "No, there's no problem between Beverly and _myself_."

Picard frowned. "Is there a problem between Beverly and someone else?"

Malina shrugged in a non-committal manner. "It's not actually a _problem_," she replied evasively. "It's more of a..._situation_."

Picard shook his head, once again radiating confusion. "Malina, I haven't a clue as to what you're talking about."

She stared at him, that mysterious smile hovering about her lips once again. "Don't you?" she murmured, then continued before he could ask about _that_ comment: "Like I said, it isn't really a problem. I happen to know that people sometimes have a difficult time expressing their feelings, especially if they don't really know how they feel. And especially when confronted with those feelings unexpectedly. Do you know what I mean?"

"I suppose," Picard replied after a moment. He had a feeling himself-that this was all leading somewhere. If he didn't know any better, he'd suspect Malina and Guinan of having orchestrated this little scenario; it smacked of "being for his own good." Once again, Kessprit drifted across the back of his mind; once again, he irritably banished it to the recesses of his subconscious. Malina couldn't be implying what he thought she was implying-could she? "So," he said, deliberately changing the subject to one less discomfiting, "I never had the chance to ask what you thought of my newest ship."

"I think it's marvelous," Malina replied enthusiastically. She knew Jean-Luc's stubborn streak; he'd talk about what he wanted to talk about, and the least she could do was give in gracefully. Or at least appear to. "Starfleet's experiment with having families on board seems to be working out particularly well here. I mean, think of it," she continued, her eyes glinting with something Picard couldn't begin to name, something that nevertheless set off warning bells. "No more marriages destroyed by long-term separation, no more children growing up with only part-time parents...I think it's the best thing Starfleet's done in a long time, psychologically speaking. I've seen a few of Deanna's reports on the effectiveness of this program, and overall it's working out very well." She grinned. "Of course, you never really liked children…" Her voice trailed off suggestively.

"I was uncomfortable around children," Picard corrected her, rising to the bait as she'd known he would. "I have learned to be more comfortable around them. Which," he conceded, "probably corroborates Counselor Troi's findings. And was no doubt a part of her reports," he added, sounding slightly disgruntled at the idea.

Malina grinned once again. "No doubt," she agreed cheerfully. "But that's just what I mean about how wonderful it is; anything that can make you less inclined to growl when the 'C' word is mentioned is worthwhile in my book!" She laughed.

Picard allowed himself to smile. Whatever Guinan's fears-and his own-Malina seemed to be doing just fine. And she'd certainly given him food for thought, her and Guinan both. Whether that was deliberate or simply coincidental, he could certainly see their collective point. Perhaps it was time for him to speak to Beverly again...

Malina grinned knowingly as Picard murmured an excuse and walked to the door. He stood outside for a moment, lost in thought, then nodded firmly to himself.

He and Beverly Crusher were definitely overdue for a talk. And he knew the perfect time for it.

* * *

_A/N: Does it sound like we're reaching the end? It should, 'cause we are! One chapter left, maybe two, depends. Ah, whimsy! Thanks for reading and reviewing...you know who you are! Both of you! :)_


	4. Party Time

The fatal night finally arrived. Ten-Forward was ready, as was the main holodeck, Crusher having realized half-way into the preparations exactly why she hadn't felt comfortable giving this type of party on the ship in the past: there simply was no way to not invite someone without feelings being hurt. And there simply wasn't enough room in any one place for everyone to get together-especially all the civilians. A thousand people was a lot to entertain. So an early party on the main holodeck had been held for the children; once that was over, the deck had been reprogrammed for an adult party which would probably, at one point or another, include everyone on board. But the main party, the party Crusher was actually hostessing and not just organizing, was in Ten-Forward.

She found herself becoming more and more apprehensive as the day wore on; no matter how silly she told herself she was being. When she finally finished her shift and saw to the last of the last-minute preparations, there were slightly less than two hours to go before the party started. _Thank God there weren't any medical emergencies_, she thought as she neared her quarters. Her steps slowed as her apprehension abruptly doubled. _Why? _She asked herself. _Why am I so nervous about this party? That's all it is-a little Halloween party, just like any other you've given in the past. And with Malina here to spice things up as an added incentive._

She smiled at the thought of her friend, but the smile quickly faded. Malina's frenetic actions on behalf of the party seemed a bit _too_ frenetic. Not that Malina ever did anything by halves, but she seemed almost obsessive about this party, as if it had some special importance to her. Beverly hoped it wasn't a sign of some deeper disturbance, but she knew that Deanna had been keeping an unobtrusive emotional "eye" on Malina, and would have said something by now if there were some kind of problem.

The door to her own quarters was in front of her. Crusher sighed, then shrugged mentally. Maybe it was just reaction to Allen's death-with the party acting to distract her from that still-fresh sorrow. And maybe she, herself, was just being oversensitive, overreacting to the situation, as she'd been overreacting to a lot of things lately. With that uncomfortable thought, the doctor entered her quarters, stopping short at the sight of her main living area.

Malina had been there. Not uninvited; she'd received permission from her friend-as if she really needed it, Crusher had scoffed-to come and go as she needed, in order to get things ready for Crusher's unknown costume.

Unknown, that is, until now. Crusher finally stepped forward, gazing with a mixture of puzzlement and awe at the creation before her, all worries about her friend and her own problems momentarily forgotten at the dazzling sight that met her eyes.

It was a dress. No, it was a gown. A magnificent ballgown, with a skirt that had to be supported by-yes, that was definitely a set of hoops underneath. Beverly warily circled the dressmaker's dummy that was planted in the middle of her living area. The gown covering the old-fashioned device was made from a shimmery, metallic silver fabric and consisted of a tight, v-necked bodice and full, floor-length skirt. The puffy, off-the-shoulder sleeves came to mid-forearm and were as full in their own way as the skirt.

Once she was able to tear her eyes away from the gown, she noted the pair of matching slippers on the sofa, next to a silvery bundle of what looked like small, metallic leaves. Behind the table, her computer console was flashing quietly. Apparently Malina had left a message.

Crusher reached over to hit the "play back" button. Malina's smiling face came into view. "Hi! Surprised? I hope so! I know you're gonna need some help with that thing-especially the hair piece"-the Malina-image held up and jiggled the same bundle of "leaves" that was now residing on the divan-"and the hooks, so I asked Deanna to come over. I'm afraid I have a couple of things to do with my own costume." She flashed one of her trademark broad grins. "See you at the party!" The image flicked out of existence, and Crusher told the machine to shut itself off. Her eyes returned to the gown.

She recognized it now. A small smile played around her lips as she reached to unfasten her uniform. _The King and I_ had always been one of her favorite musicals, and she had been fortunate enough to see a restored version of the original film, starring Yul Brynner and Deborah Kerr, when she was still in high school. The dress was an exact duplicate of the one worn in the famous dinner party and dancing sequence. Malina had really outdone herself this time.

Now, two hours later, Beverly Crusher found herself in Ten-Forward, playing hostess. Her hair was neatly tucked into its silver snood, her full skirt carefully arranged over the single layer of petticoats Malina had deemed necessary for authenticity. Troi's assistance in assembling the costume had proven invaluable, and it had the added advantage of allowing Crusher a sneak preview of her friend's costume. She looked absolutely stunning with her skin darkened to a deep tan, her hair colored a magnificent chestnut red and her eyes a luminous green. The pointed ears peeking out from behind her hair would put any Vulcan's to shame, and the costume itself-a red, gold-trimmed halter and a blue skirt with more gold hanging in fringes from the hips and hem-showed her figure to advantage. A figure Crusher had always somewhat envied, and one that Will Riker-who looked particularly dashing in what could only be a Captain Sinbad get-up-seemed to be spending a lot of time admiring tonight.

While Troi had immediately headed for the table of refreshments-Will Riker at her side-Crusher stood in a corner near the back, her normally sociable nature somewhat subdued, no doubt a result of her continued nervousness. After greeting people and making certain that everything was going smoothly, she'd retreated to her present vantage point, content to watch with a smile as the guests quite obviously enjoyed the party.

She could look at the costumes all night. Everyone had outdone themselves; a masquerade ball was something never before seen on the _Enterprise_, and the eagerness with which people had thrown themselves into the spirit of the evening was a constant source of amazement to her. People had been talking about what they would wear for weeks before the actual event. Now, the evening was here, and it was well worth the wait. Crusher could hardly wait to see Malina's costume; her anticipation had been the strongest of all.

Crusher's eyes roamed about the room, lighting on one person after another and lingering in fascinated admiration. There was Ensign Ro, in what had to be a native costume-the style was unmistakable-talking to Worf, who had taken a momentary break from stalking around in his 23rd century Klingon full battle dress. Which, as far as the doctor could tell, was as authentic as Ro's costume, right down to a mock-disrupter peace-bonded to one thigh. They appeared to be having a very animated discussion about something that involved a lot of arm waving and hand motions.

Crusher's eyes continued their appraisal of the costumes. If Data wasn't Peter Pan-right down to the pointed ears, less dramatic than Troi's and probably prosthetics leftover from his trip to the Romulan homeworld-she'd eat her tricorder. She smiled to herself as he walked by, deep in an earnest discussion with Ensign Pulver, somewhat relieved that he wasn't dressed as Sherlock Holmes. Or as Pinocchio or the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz, costumes he had discussed with herself and La Forge a few days ago. In Crusher's opinion, Data's Holmes persona was a tad annoying, and the others were too downbeat, to borrow one of her great-grandmother's favorite phrases. Although they expressed a legitimate aspect of Data's personality-his desire to be something he wasn't-she was glad La Forge had talked him into Peter Pan.

"It's perfect for you," he'd argued. "Face it Data; you don't ever have to grow old. Everything's always new and interesting to you. Just like Peter Pan, you never have to grow up," he'd added, somewhat wistfully. Data had seemed intrigued by the his friends arguments, and the result was the green tights, ragged-edged shorts and shirt, and small gold sword thrust through his belt. Very authentic.

Malina still hadn't shown up. Neither, Crusher noted with a start, had Captain Picard. _Jean-Luc,_ she corrected herself, uncomfortably remembering Malina's long-ago comment to her about her overly formal use of the captain's title. This was, after all, a social occasion; it wasn't as if she never used his given name at all. But Malina had made her more conscious of the times when she did. Had made her more conscious of him in general, Crusher thought with a flash of self-directed annoyance. As if Kessprit and Netta Darrin hadn't done that enough...

Crusher pushed that thought away quickly, before it went any further. No matter what she called him or what had passed between them during their long history, Crusher found she was absolutely _dying_ to see what costume Malina had persuaded Jean-Luc to wear.

In the meantime, there was La Forge, talking with Lt. Barclay. La Forge looked absolutely gorgeous-and slightly self-conscious-in a Superman costume. Barclay's costume puzzled the CMO for a moment; his hair, like Troi's, had been colored red, and bright red freckles had been spattered generously across his face. He wore an old-fashioned bowtie and had an even older-looking camera slung around his neck. Crusher puzzled over who he could possibly be, until Ensign Gomez from Engineering joined them. Her arrival put everything into place. Sonya wore an outfit that must have come from the same era as Barclay's-hers consisting of a pillbox hat, white gloves and a chic skirt and jacket ensemble-and she was clutching an equally-old-fashioned notebook and pencil in one hand. "Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane," Crusher murmured in satisfaction. She grinned; those old comic books Jack used to read-and La Forge still read-had paid off for once. Trust La Forge to drag his crew into the joke; Malina would appreciate it.

That is, she'd appreciate it if she ever showed up. Where on Earth _was_ she? And Jean-Luc, for that matter? Crusher finally came out of her corner, crossing the room anxiously. She stopped when she reached Dr. Selar, who was standing stiffly by the main view port, as if she were still debating whether or not she really wanted to be here-and surely that wasn't a Snow White costume she was wearing? Yes, it was. There was no mistaking that red bow in her hair, the golden skirt, the blue cape, the short puffed-and-slashed sleeves. She was the classic Disney version of the Grimm heroine, all right. Old 2-D holos were the inspiration for more than one costume here tonight.

Selar suffered through her commanding officer's appraisal of her costume stoically, fingering one edge of her skirt in what closely resembled a nervous gesture-something Crusher had certainly never seen the Vulcan doctor indulge in before. "An interesting custom, this 'Halloween costume party,'" Selar offered diffidently.

"Your costume is lovely," Crusher replied sincerely. "What made you decide on Snow White?" Her curiosity was as genuine as her compliment; she'd rather expected Selar to wear something traditional, as Ro and Worf had.

"My name," Selar said simply. Crusher raised an eyebrow, and her assistant clarified: "The literal translation of my name is 'The Whiteness of Snow'. I explained this to Nurse Ogawa six days ago, when we were discussing the origin of her name, and she suggested this costume for me. I felt," she added, "that it would not be inappropriate."

Crusher nodded her agreement. She and Selar continued to stand in companionable silence for a few more minutes, until Alyssa Ogawa-dressed as a mouse, complete with tail and ears-came over to drag the Vulcan doctor into an argument about the relative merits of physical vs. psychological healing methods that Crusher adamantly refused to take part in. "No work for me tonight," she said with a smile, heading for the bar as the other two joined the cluster of medical personnel involved in the discussion. She was beginning to get a little worried about Malina, who still hadn't arrived. And worried about Jean-Luc, but not for the same reasons. If he was late, it was likely to be nothing more serious than some last-minute duty to be performed-and, perhaps, a reluctance to attend a party that Malina had basically bullied him into attending in the first place.

She, on the other hand, had been so insistent on this party; what if she was thinking about last year? Crusher was excruciatingly aware of Allen's death, and the thought that Malina might be using this party to alleviate some of her pain drifted across her mind again. No matter how well a person took the death of someone they loved, the pain could overtake them unexpectedly. Crusher knew very well how that could be. Knew all too well, that losing someone you loved was a wound that never truly healed. She didn't think that she could bear to feel such pain again, and yet she knew it was a distinct possibility. Especially with Wesley set to graduate in less than two years. Facing the possibility that her son could be killed while on a mission was painful enough; no wonder she pushed Jean-Luc away at every turn. Losing him would hurt enough if he was just a friend; if she allowed herself to feel something more for him...

Crusher froze at the direction her thoughts had taken. Was that her problem? Was she so frightened of losing someone else she loved that she kept everyone at arm's distance, to avoid that kind of pain? It would certainly explain her reaction to Jean-Luc after Kessprit. She'd consciously and deliberately distanced herself from him and his emotions, telling herself it was simply the stress of the situation, but knowing in her heart that it was more than that. That it was because she was afraid of allowing him closer. It was a revelation to her, one she savored for a long minute before the sound of someone calling her name returned her to the present.

"Are you all right, doctor?" Guinan, who had posed the question, tilted her head inquisitively, concern clear in her deep brown eyes.

"I'm fine," Crusher murmured, managing a wan smile. "Have you seen Malina?" Guinan was the logical person to ask; she always seemed to know what was going on.

The other woman shook her head, tacitly acknowledging the doctor's desire not to explain her momentary distraction. "Not recently." She smiled. "But don't worry-she'll be here." She glanced at the door and smiled again. "In fact, if I'm not mistaken, here she comes now." She pointed with the magic wand Crusher had barely noticed, reaching up with her free hand to smoothly adjust the large golden crown that was now substituting for her usual large hat. Crusher nodded a distracted thanks and turned toward the door-but not before arching an eyebrow at the gauzy, pink, full-skirted ball gown she now noticed that the other woman was wearing. "Glinda?" she murmured in a tone of vague disbelief, then shook her head and turned toward the door. Guinan merely smiled enigmatically and turned to speak to someone else.

Crusher made a bee-line for the door, almost tripping over her own full skirt in her haste to see what Malina was wearing. She stopped short as the crowd eddied away, allowing her to achieve that goal.

The doctor found herself absolutely speechless. Malina had apparently been painted into a tight, jewel-bestudded white pantsuit. She had an elaborate platinum-blonde wig piled precariously on top of her head, an acoustic guitar slung over one shoulder, and a mole painted to the right of her mouth. Huge false eyelashes-balanced by the huge false bosom that now rode her chest-completed the ensemble. It was an altogether startling picture, and one Crusher couldn't even begin to fathom. "Who are you supposed to be?"

Malina turned towards her, a huge grin plastered across her face. "Wah, don't you-all recognize me, honey chile?" she asked, in a patently false southern accent. She teetered over to Crusher on a pair of stilted heels and fluttered the ridiculous eyelashes at her friend. "Cain't you-all tell who ah am?"

Crusher shook her head. "I haven't the faintest idea."

Malina frowned. "You never were a lover of classical country music," she said in her own voice.

"No, I never was," Crusher agreed. "Who the heck are you supposed to be?"

"Dolly Parton," Malina replied grandly, then turned as the door to Ten-Forward opened behind her. She grinned and glided off to one side. Crusher frowned at her-she still hadn't had a chance to ask Malina why she'd been late, although the gaudy costume would certainly account for a large chunk of the time. But her eyes slipped toward the door in an automatic gesture, and she found herself suddenly speechless as Jean-Luc Picard walked in.

_How in heaven's name did Malina persuade him to walk around in bare feet?_ was her first thought. Her second was, _and I thought Yul Brynner was sexy in that outfit! _Because, as sure as the stars were in the heavens surrounding the ship, if she was Mrs. Anna Leon-Owens, then Jean-Luc Picard was the second title character of _The King and I_.

Beverly Crusher wasn't the only one to notice the captain's entrance. A hush fell over the room at the sight of Picard in full Siamese costume. He hadn't altered his coloring or his eyes with prosthetics, but there was no mistaking him. The aura of command that was habitual to the _Enterprise's_ Captain suited the King of Siam as well.

Malina stepped behind Crusher and leaned forward to whisper in her friend's ear. "Just walk up to him and say hello; Dolly says go for it! Remember, Anna couldn't deal with the king romantically because he had other responsibilities-other wives, mainly, and way too many children. I think you're a much more giving person, Rusty; you could share him with his other wife-" she gestured to indicate the ship around them "-and his children." Now her gesture indicated the people crowding around them, the ones who had resumed their laughter and chatting. Will Riker walked up to greet the captain, along with Data, La Forge, and Deanna Troi, and his huge grin did not bode well for Picard's peace of mind.

Malina teetered off again before Crusher could comment on her intriguing words, but that didn't mean she wasn't thinking about them. The doctor's lips curved up in a smile, and she blinked away a few tears. Malina called her a giving person, when in truth the Polynesian woman was the most giving person Crusher knew. She had given every ounce of her love and determination to her husband; she had given Crusher back her life when it seemed that Jack's death was claiming two souls instead of one; and now here she was, trying to do it again. Not very subtle, the doctor decided, but that was typical of Malina. She assessed the situation, she decided on a course of action, and she took it. _Extremely_ typical. She'd probably been planning this since her visit last year.

It all came together in that moment; all the doubts and fears fell by the wayside as Crusher took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked toward Picard. If nothing else, it was time to see if he were as well versed in classical musicals as she was. She was ready to confront the situation-the man, her fears for and of that man, and everything else.

It was finally time.

* * *

_A/N: So this is the penultimate chapter of my little story. One chapter left. Wonder how it ends? (As if you didn't know...)_


	5. Something To Tell You

Jean-Luc Picard saw Beverly Crusher walking toward him, and the sight of her quite took his breath away. The chattering of the crowd, the good-natured ribbing from Will Riker regarding his captain's bare feet and uncharacteristic earring, all fell away into dimness. He had eyes and ears only for the lovely vision in silver making her way toward him.

The captain smiled to himself, briefly, but it was enough to catch the sharp eye of his ship's counselor. Or maybe it was the sudden rush of emotion she sensed, more than that small movement of the lips. An answering smile flitted across her own face, and she somehow managed to move not only Riker but Data and La Forge as well, herded them all toward the bar or the dance floor that had been cleared in the middle of the room. He neither knew nor cared which.

Crusher reached him at the same time that the others left, and simply stood for a moment, contemplating her commanding officer-and her friend. "Well," she said, then stopped, at a loss for the appropriate words.

"Well indeed," Picard returned approvingly. His eyes moved over her own costume-and body-lingering appreciatively on her face. Crusher felt herself flushing slightly under his regard, and lowered her eyes like a shy schoolgirl. Which was exactly how she was feeling. "My compliments to Malina; she has an excellent eye for just the right costume-Mrs. Anna."

Crusher's eyes flew up to meet his. So he _did_ know-! "Malina has a tendency to overestimate her abilities," she commented drily, taking defense in sarcasm out of sheer habit.

Picard arched an eyebrow and offered her his arm. "Does she really?" he murmured as he led Crusher to a small table. She sat opposite him, graceful in spite of the unfamiliar hoops that fluffed her skirt out to alarming dimensions. "I would say that she had an uncanny knack for getting to the heart of matters," he continued, crossing his arms across his almost-bare chest and leaning back in his own seat.

"Such as?" Crusher asked innocently, her heart racing.

"Such as stating as plainly as she could without coming right out and saying it that she felt we needed to...discuss certain things," the captain elaborated. "Things that we've both been avoiding."

He didn't seem at all uncomfortable with the conversation, and Crusher found herself wondering how he could be so calm when it was all she could do to keep herself from trembling. It was almost surreal; the two of them sitting isolated in the middle of a party, neither actually coming out and saying what was on their minds, but nimbly dancing around the subject in a manner worthy of the most delicate diplomatic negotiations. Picard had thrown down the gauntlet with his last, deliberate statement, obliquely, without a direct reference to anything in particular, but Crusher could feel Kessprit looming over them. Unfinished business, business that he'd apparently decided to finish at the same time she had. Interesting timing, and she felt constrained to comment on it.

"Tell me something," she said, eyes glowing with challenge. "Exactly what matters do you think Malina thinks we need to discuss?" She'd picked up the gauntlet.

Picard looked down, then shook his head. "Not here," he finally said, looking back up into Beverly's luminous blue eyes. "Perhaps we should speak in private."

The ship's CMO nodded slowly. "All right," she agreed. "Where?"

A slow smile spread across the captain's face. "Before she came over and bullied me into this ridiculous get-up," he said, plucking distastefully at one sleeve of his silken clothing, "Malina just happened to mention that she had reserved one of the small holodecks for me. 'In case I needed somewhere private to talk to someone tonight,' were her exact words. Would you care to join me?"

Crusher hesitated fractionally before nodding again. "Why not?" She glanced around at the revelers surrounding them. "Everyone seems to be having a good time; I don't think they'll mind if their hostess disappears for a while."

"Nor their captain," Picard agreed. He grimaced slightly. "If I have to listen to one more joke from Will Riker, I shall be forced to place him in the brig." He rose and offered her his hand. Crusher took it, his fingers curling warmly around her own, and rose as well. As they started for the doors, Crusher glanced around for Malina. She was standing with Data, La Forge, and Ensign Ro, and looked over at the same instant. A broad grin broke out over her expressive face, and she gave a slow, exaggerated wink and a thumb's up gesture before deliberately turning away and saying something to Data before he could inquire as to the meaning of her actions.

As they passed through the doors into the corridor, Crusher could have sworn she saw Guinan gazing after them with something that looked like approval in her eyes. Then the doors were shut, and her thoughts turned to contemplation of the man beside her.

"_Because he's my commanding officer,"_ she'd said. _"Because there's nothing going on, and there never will be."_ Why had it taken her so long to realize she'd been deceiving herself? Malina had certainly figured it out far sooner than anyone else except, perhaps, Deanna Troi. And Guinan. Not that Crusher would ever admit it; her friend was insufferably smug about being right as it was. She didn't need confirmation of her own supposed omniscience.

"We're here," Picard announced, breaking into her thoughts as he paused at the entrance to one of the smaller holodecks. "Last chance to change your mind." Always the gentleman, he was allowing her to bow out gracefully if she so desired. Because once through those doors, they both knew there was no going back. Crusher merely nodded and waited for him to activate the program. They stepped inside and the doors closed behind them. A privacy lock activated, indicated by a softly blinking red light. They were alone.

As Beverly half-expected, they found themselves in the ornate Siamese "ballroom" from the "Shall We Dance" sequence in the movie. Picard's lips twitched slightly, although whether it was in amusement or annoyance at Malina's self-assurance, Crusher was unable to tell. She prowled around the edge of the room, peering curiously behind a set of filmy curtains that hung between two large pillars, then shutting them hastily. They hid a small room filled with large, oriental pillows and nothing else, a room whose open windows looked out on a moonlit garden and brought in the heady scent of exotic flowers. The ideal place for an assignation if there ever was one-and a place that had definitely _not_ appeared in the movie. Apparently Malina was not above taking liberties.

Picard stepped further into the room as well, a faint smile now hovering about his lips. "More than oriental splendor," he quoted, his voice echoing slightly in the vastness of the room. Crusher smiled over her shoulder as her fingers lightly grazed one of the huge pillars that lined the perimeter of the room. "It's been a long time since we were on a holodeck together," she said, suddenly self-conscious. "Do you remember that first time-Mr. Hill?"

"All too well," Picard replied with a slight grimace that was quickly replaced by a nostalgic smile. "Quite an experience, wouldn't you say?"

Crusher nodded. "Especially Data," she continued, lips quirking in remembered annoyance.

"Perhaps I was too hasty in inviting Mr. Whalen and Data along," Picard said softly. "You seemed a bit...put out when I did so."

Crusher's response, if any, was interrupted by an unexpected voice from the middle of the room. She jumped slightly as a hologram of Malina appeared. "I knew I'd get you two here," her friend's voice said smugly. "Now do me a favor, and make the scene end the way I always knew it should have ended. Don't worry; after this, no more interfering. Promise." The hologram-dressed in the obnoxious Dolly Parton costume-smiled broadly, winked, and disappeared as abruptly as it had appeared.

Crusher laughed, although she could feel a self-conscious flush forming on her cheeks as she did so. Picard didn't know what Malina meant by that last comment; it was directed firmly at the doctor. Malina had always contended that, if _The King and I_ were a good historical romance, there would have been a seduction scene before-or maybe even instead of-the locating of Tuptim. Beverly knew she wasn't _about_ to tell Jean-Luc Picard that. Before he could even ask, she said "Music!" and walked over to his side, an expectant look on her face.

The music she was anticipating-"Shall We Dance", of course-came on, and she shrugged at the enquiring look in Picard's eyes. "She's got every other detail," Crusher explained. "Somehow I had a feeling that she'd have the right music, too."

"Well, then, shall we oblige her?" Picard asked, putting out a hand and grasping her waist gently. Crusher went willingly into his embrace, offered him her own hand as they whirled into the dance.

The music continued, but the two of them came to a stop after the third circuit, by mutual consent. "I believe we came here to talk," Crusher said breathlessly as she leaned her back against one of the pillars.

Picard nodded. "Talk we shall," he agreed, leaning with crossed arms against a second pillar and pausing only briefly before adding, "I would like to talk about Kessprit."

Another gauntlet thrown. Beverly pursed her lips and nodded thoughtfully. Picard was looking at her, his face carefully neutral but his eyes tense. Would she accept the challenge? "It isn't really Kessprit we need to talk about," she replied, picking her words carefully. "It's what happened after Kessprit." The challenge was accepted. "I believe I owe you an explanation."

"Beverly, you don't owe me anything," Picard protested softly. "What happened on Kessprit was a fluke, an aberration. Something that never should have happened. To allow my...expectations to carry over past that moment was unreasonable. Selfish." He paused. "I never even asked about your feelings, or considered how uncomfortable you must have felt. Not even when you left me after dinner that night. Can you forgive me?"

Crusher shook her head in amazement. "You're asking for _my_ forgiveness?" A laugh escaped before she ruthlessly cut it off. "I'm sorry; I just find it ironic that you want my forgiveness, when I was going to ask you for yours."

Picard's eyebrow rose in confusion. "For what?"

"For just leaving you without any explanation," Crusher replied. She moved restlessly away from the pillar, then turned back to face him, chin lifted stubbornly. "It all comes back to Jack, you see. When he died, I felt like part of me died as well. And I've just begun to realize that I've been using his death as a shield ever since, to keep anyone from getting to close. I knew that my feelings for you were changing, practically from the moment I first came on board the _Enterprise_. But I didn't allow myself to acknowledge those changes, or the conflicts they were producing, until you-well, until Netta Darrin entered your life. At first I was happy for you, but then, as you grew closer, I felt a sense of...loss. Almost one of betrayal, although I kept telling myself there was nothing between us to betray. Deanna wanted me to tell you how I felt," she added, "but I couldn't even explain to myself how I felt, much less you! So I stalled, and time took care of the problem for me. I was able to pretend nothing had changed as soon as Netta left the ship and your relationship was over."

"I had no idea," Picard murmured, feeling a bit overwhelmed at Beverly's revelation. "You were distant for a while, but I assumed it was merely your research into a cure for Allen; you seemed to spend every waking moment working on that."

Crusher nodded. "I truly was desperate to find a cure, but deep down I knew it was just a convenient excuse for me to keep from thinking about...things. From thinking about you." She took a deep, shuddering breath, releasing it raggedly as she continued to pace back and forth in front of Picard and the pillar. "I was jealous of Netta, but at the same time I felt as if I couldn't let myself admit that I'd fallen in love with you, because you might bring me the sort of pain I felt when Jack died. It was bad enough considering the possibility that I might lose Wesley, let alone anyone else." She hesitated before continuing. "Part of me was actually disappointed that Wes wasn't kicked out of Starfleet; part of me was actually hoping he would be, so I wouldn't have to worry about him." She smiled tremulously. "It was only a small part of me that hoped that, but it was enough to make me feel very guilty, never mind the fact that, Starfleet officer or not, there would always be some reason for me to worry about Wesley. I'm his mother, after all." She took another deep breath before finishing. "All of which served to make me push you away even more. Which just added to the guilt."

"I understand," Picard broke in softly, capturing her eyes with his own. "However unintentionally, I placed you in a very difficult situation, and I appreciate your candidness. I more than appreciate it. I just want you to know, that no matter what else, I do and always will value your friendship. You know I would never deliberately cause you pain; I'm just sorry I've done so inadvertently."

Crusher walked forward, leaned against the pillar so they were practically nose to nose. She studied him unblinkingly for a long moment, then smiled. "I'm not afraid to explore my feelings any more," she whispered, raising a hand to gently touch his cheek. "If you still think I'm worth the effort, I'd like to try. What do you think?"

Picard had become very still as she spoke. When she finished, he turned his face and kissed the palm of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. "I think that is a splendid idea," he said softly.

Crusher's smile broadened. "Malina will be thrilled that her matchmaking worked-oh!" she broke off in mid-sentence, one hand clapped to her mouth as she suddenly realized the significance of her friend's costume. She couldn't stop the laughter from erupting, and simply laughed all the harder at Picard's confused expression.

"Oh, she's wicked!" Crusher said after she could catch her breath. "Absolutely wicked! She knew I'd recognize her in the real costume-!" She fell into laughter again.

Picard still looked puzzled. "What in heaven's name are you talking about?"

"Don't you see?" Crusher asked, then continued before he could snap out his negative response. "She told me to go and say hello, Dolly said to go for it!" Still no understanding. "Hello, Dolly, Jean-Luc, she said 'Hello Dolly'!"

Comprehension was dawning. Picard was much more interested in classical literature than he was in classical musicals, but he was proving that his education there was not lacking. "Hello, Dolly," he murmured in understanding. "Of course. And how do we respond to so...blatant a challenge?"

Crusher moved away from the pillar as well, stopping very close in front of him. "Well, I hate to disappoint such a good friend," she murmured, smiling seductively. She took Picard's unresisting hand in hers, slipped it around her waist. "Shall we dance?"

The exuberant music beckoned once again, but this time the dancers were moving to their own rhythm. Swaying softly, their bodies moved closer and closer, until they were pressed together in a manner that would have shocked and dismayed a 19th century woman and scandalized a 19th century man.

The kiss, when it inevitably came, was scorching in its intensity. The events that followed it would definitely have satisfied Malina, had she been there to watch.

"The captain and Doctor Crusher have not returned to the party," Data noted several hours later. Things were beginning to wind down; only a few small clusters of guests remained.

Troi, Malina and Data made up one of those clusters near the bar. The ship's counselor and the visiting exopsychiatrist exchanged glances, but it was Guinan, standing on the other side of the counter, who spoke. "I don't think they'll make it back tonight." Her voice was serene, but her eyes glittered with barely suppressed satisfaction.

Data cocked his head inquiringly. "Has some emergency arisen that requires their presence?"

Troi turned a laugh into a discreet cough as Malina replied, "Nothing like that, Data. They just needed to get a few things worked out between them, and tonight was the perfect time for them to do so." Her own smile was broad and just the tiniest bit smug as she added, "Sometimes all people need to see things in a different light is an outside influence."

Then she bid them all good-night and headed for her own quarters, leaving a laughing Troi and Guinan to explain-or not explain, as they chose-to Data.

* * *

_A/N: So, thus endeth this bit of P/C fluff. Hope everyone enjoyed it!_


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